


On the Run and Go

by stalksoftly



Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: M/M, Porn, Unsatisfying Angst, Violence, criminals, powerbottom!tyler
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-07
Updated: 2017-02-07
Packaged: 2018-09-22 18:24:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9619694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stalksoftly/pseuds/stalksoftly
Summary: Tyler and Josh rob convenience stores. Tyler enjoys it a little too much.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [edy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/edy/gifts).



"Ready?" Tyler asks, pulling the black mask over his face to meet the dark paint on his neck. 

Josh's throat clicks with a swallow. 

He's not ready. He's not ready when Tyler first whispers dark fantasies in his ear as he's drifting into a fitful sleep, he's not ready when Tyler presents him with page of meticulous scrawling, an outline, a plan. He's not ready when Tyler buys supplies. 

He's not ready when Tyler brings his dark fantasies to fruition. 

"Ready," he answers, pulling on his own mask. 

Tyler hops out of the car, both hands inside the pocket of his hoodie. 

Breath already shallow, heart pounding in his ears, Josh follows suit. 

The wash of neon from the convenience store sign illuminates Tyler's eyes and mouth, and he throws a wink to Josh before pushing open the swinging glass door. 

A chime welcomes them. 

A squeaked "Hell- Oh! Oh!" welcomes them. 

Tyler fishes the gun from his hoodie and growls, voice as low as he can manage. 

"On your knees." 

The shaking, lanky teenager complies, all but his eyes disappearing behind the counter. 

Tyler swings his legs over the counter and lands in front of the pimply cashier. 

"Josh," he says, waving his free hand over to him. 

"Josh!" he spits as he cracks the gun across the cashier's face, causing the boy to crumble at his feet. 

Josh is frozen in place, eyes saucers of white lined with red.

His face unreadable behind the ski mask, Tyler lifts his hand with the threat of another blow. The boy's face is all snot and tears, a mark of red blooming across his cheekbone.

He begs. 

"Please, please, sir, please," unable to muster much else. 

Tyler swings his gun into the boy's face again. 

A tooth skitters across tile. 

A wet spot forms on the crotch of Josh's pants, still frozen in place by horror.

Now unhinged, Tyler swings the gun again, and again, and again. The shrieks echoing around the aisles turn into pleas, the pleas turn into wet gurgling, finally evolving into silence. 

Breathing heavily, Tyler drops his hands and turns to Josh. 

"Come," he commands, waving a dark hand streaked red towards the register.

Josh shuffles his feet mechanically around the counter. He can't tear his eyes away from the crumpled mess at Tyler's feet. 

Where Josh first saw a face of dimples and acne, he now sees a mash of strawberry jam. 

"Dude," Tyler barks, startling Josh back to the task at hand. "Come on!"

He rips open the register and stuffs fistfuls of bills into the backpack in Josh's quivering hands. 

\--

Back in car, mission accomplished, Tyler is hopped up on adrenaline. He whoops, hoisting the bag of cash in the air and dropping the gun on his dashboard. 

"That was a fucking cake walk, Josh," he hollers, yanking the mask off his face. 

He's all pink cheeks and eyes crinkled with laughter. 

Josh's stomach churns. 

Behind his mask, he's all pounding headache and slick with sweat. 

He retrieves the revolver from the dashboard. 

Josh holds up the gun to the Tyler's face. He's quivering, his hand everything but steady before him. 

"W-what the fuck is wrong with you, Tyler?" he says, the tension in his throat chasing up the pitch of his voice and betraying him. Tears gather in the brim of his eyes, threatening to spill. 

The man looks coy and boyish without his ski mask, not nearly as intimidating as before, his wide doe eyes gleaming at Josh. He inches himself forward and Josh claps a second hand onto the gun. 

The gun rattles in his hands and he can't believe this, can't believe that the Tyler is snaking himself forward, closer to he weapon in his hands.

Everything in his body prickles, nerves alive and raw. He wants to blink back to the moment all of this, before Tyler, before he drowned himself in a romance too intense for him to navigate. 

But no, Tyler inches himself closer until Josh can feel the man's warm breath ghosting over his hands, his face full of mirth instead of the fear that Josh expected, even hoped for. 

He places one hand over Josh's, who can't bring himself to recoil from the touch. He's frozen in place, except for the violent vibrations in his limbs. 

Tyler, with a lopsided smirk on his face, he opens his mouth and leans in to place a tentative lick on the tip of the revolver. Eyes still gleaming, he licks the tip, again and again, tongue wide and flat. 

He pants heavily and places a kiss on the barrel of the gun, nuzzling his way up the until he reaches Josh's knuckles.

He wraps his lips around the gun and pushes himself forward until his nose meets the hammer, pulls himself back again. He repeats the motion until his head his bobbing, spittle dribbling down his chin and catching on the trigger, where Josh has one finger poised. 

When he finally pulls himself off, his face is flushed and a string of saliva ties him to the gun, to Josh. 

"Do it," he commands, voice low and ragged from the metal sight catching in his throat. 

With one final kiss to the apex between Josh's fingers and the chamber, he wraps his lips around the gun again, and presses his thumb against Josh's finger, the one on the trigger. 

A visceral scream tears out of Josh's throat.

The gun only clicks. 

Tyler pulls himself off, face torn wide into a grin. 

"My lucky day," he muses, unfazed, and turns the ignition. 

Josh feels sick. 

\--

Against the plywood headboard of a motel bed, Tyler presses his forearm to Josh's throat. Josh is soft, pliant. He doesn't squirm when Tyler fists his shirt and presses his bodyweight onto his arm. 

He feels too hollow to protest, so he gives himself to hitched breath, to the stars clouding his vision. 

_…still some clouds around this evening, but late this evening, the clouds should break a bit…_

Tyler bites his way down Josh's jaw, up his chin, up to his chapped bottom lip and Tyler, Tyler nibbles and nibbles until he pulls a loose tag of skin between his teeth and tears it away, tears a whimper from Josh's throat. 

He presses their lips together in a chaste kiss and when he pulls up to hover over Josh, eyes predatory, a smear of blood stains his lips, like strawberry jam.

Josh shudders.

The flickering of the cheap motel TV dances over Tyler's face, giving him an ethereal glow. Josh's hands skitter over his hips, catching on skin tacky with sweat. 

_…we're going to see a lot more sunshine for Friday and into Saturday…_

Josh mewls, mouth slack, hips rolling against Tyler's, wordlessly begging for more. More more more, more stimulation, more distraction. 

One hand of uncut nails presses into the flesh of Josh's chest, leaving behind a fan of pink half moons, while Tyler's other hand roams Josh's mouth with three fingers. 

Josh licks and licks.

When saliva dribbles down the back of his hand, Tyler arches his back and brings a finger to his own hole. He grinds himself onto it, coming undone, eyes turned to the ceiling in some kind of lust-driven prayer. 

Josh lifts his head to place a kiss on the soft skin under Tyler's jaw, but Tyler knots a hand in his hair and pins him back to the sheets. 

_…at Washington there's a wreck that's being cleared out of your way, so the north side's looking great right now…_

Adding another finger and grinding himself against Josh leaves them both flushed, panting. 

Adding a third finger ignites Josh to wrap a hand around both their cocks, binding them together with Tyler's methodical rocking. 

Tyler bats his hand away and lines himself up. When he sinks himself onto Josh's cock, Josh sees more stars, feels his mind numb and his body come alive with the wet heat tight around him. 

He closes his eyes to pretend this is like the first time, he can pretend their love is still fresh and alive with butterfly kisses and dragonflies buzzing over hazy summer ponds. 

He closes his eyes to transport himself back to the ghost of his former self, drunk on Tyler's words, intoxicated by his dark charm, instead of smothered by it.

_…multiple Senate Democrats indicated on Monday afternoon that they would take part in a late-night session to voice…_

Tyler rocks his hips, rolls them, torso undulating beneath Josh's fingers. Completely in control, he impales himself on Josh's cock again and again, sinking to the hilt, raising himself up and letting himself fall down again. 

Josh welcomes his own passivity, choking out a moan every time Tyler bobs over him. 

When Tyler snakes a firm hand around his throat and rolls and rolls over him, it doesn't take long for him to unfurl himself inside Tyler. 

Tyler makes use of him for as long as he can and fists his own dick furiously, Josh still inside him, until he stutters across his chest. 

He walks his knees up and spreads himself over Josh's face. 

"Suck," he breathes. 

Josh opens his mouth to comply, tonguing Tyler's hole eagerly. He licks, he sucks, he pants for air when he can't taste himself anymore, when everything is gone, when the once welcome background noise starts to cut deep. 

_…16 year old Donathan Ramos was rushed to the hospital immediately, but passed away due to the injuries sustained from blunt force trauma…_

Tyler sits back onto his chest, face flush. "You're so beautiful," he says, swiping a thumb over the corner of Josh's mouth, cleaning up the remainder of spittle and cum. 

_…police are currently on the lookout for two suspects caught on security cameras of the local 7-11, two males wearing ski masks, about 5'9 and 5'5…_

He ignores rivulets of tears rushing down the sides of Josh's face. 

He ignores Josh heaving ragged breaths with his hands clasped over his ears. 

Tyler tugs a blanket with him as he rolls over, sighing himself into a peaceful slumber. 

Josh wants to scream. 

\--

Miles of desert stretch around the car and Josh doesn't find any solace in the barren landscape. If anything, the wide open space leaves room for his mind to wander, for him to float away. He doesn't need this; he needs something busy and tight and crowded to fill him up. 

Tyler is whistling with one wrist draped over the steering wheel. 

"Lighten up, Joshie," he says, all toothy grin and no malice. "We're free now. We can do this. You and me, yeah?" 

Josh bites back the bile he'd rather spew. 

"Yeah." 

\--

A single incidence of cruelty turns into a string of robberies with a chilling theme: ski masks, two men, one armed, one bludgeoned cashier, no witnesses save for grainy surveillance camera footage. 

By the third time, Josh doesn't wet himself. 

By the fifth time, he watches Tyler pummel a woman's face while munching on chips. 

News reports of police officers scrambling together clues becomes the regular soundtrack to their late-night fucking, sometimes over the stuttering picture of a blocky TV in a filthy motel room, sometimes the crackling voices through a radio station in their car. 

Tyler always tunes into the news. Josh doesn't cry anymore. 

Tyler becomes more alive with every robbery, with every tally in his notebook crawling closer to a monetary goal, he rides Josh ragged, stinging his skin with slaps, raking and plowing him purple. 

With every tally, with every step closer to Tyler's definition of freedom, Josh becomes more and more impassive under him, a body vacant of a soul for Tyler to impale himself upon. 

He escapes into memories of hand-holding, of lazy kisses on sweaty heaving chests, when Tyler's late-night whispers were still welcome caresses of affection, before they unfolded into morbid fantasies of creaking nooses and lions pulling apart flesh. When Tyler's arm curling around him felt more like protection and less like possession, closing him off from friends and family. When running away felt more like a running joke. 

Josh leaves behind his body while his mind combs through the syrup of their early relationship.

If Tyler notices, he doesn't say anything, doesn't let it show. 

After every robbery, he's alive with sweat and heavy breaths and enthusiastic babbling about freedom, about escape. Even when Josh deflates in the passenger seat, he places kisses to his palm and celebrates their gory victory. 

After their tenth convenience store, Josh watches Tyler's boot catch on the mangled mess of blood and hair as he's stepping over her to leave. He kicks away the woman's limp head, blood sputtering across tile. 

Her groans fall on deaf ears as Josh scrambles after Tyler, shouldering his backpack.

In the car, Tyler is all beaming face and crinkling eyes. Ten is a landmark. Ten is what they needed, all they needed according to calculations. 

He pulls out of the parking lot, bouncing in his seat. 

Tyler is jittering with ecstasy as he leans over to plant a kiss on Josh. "We did it, Joshie," he coos, stippling more kisses against Josh's mouth, eyes skirting to and from the road. 

"We have enough," he says, still bouncing. "There's no looking back, Joshie, there's no fucking hiding anymore."

Josh pulls wraps a hand behind Tyler's neck and pulls him in for a deeper kiss, one hand trailing over to the steering wheel. 

"Woah," Tyler breathes, protests. "I can't take my eyes off the road, baby." 

But Josh, Josh keeps pulling, nipping and licking into the kiss. Tyler sighs softly, briefly relishing the moment, until his forehead cracks against Josh's. 

The car lurches off the road. Tyler cries out. His scream permeates the thrashing of bodies against windows, the crunching of metal. It stops long after the car lands on its roof, amid trees and moss. 

Tyler gapes in horror at Josh's hand still firmly wrapped around the steering wheel. 

"We're free now," Josh gurgles around the blood in his mouth. He paints Tyler's cheek with a kiss. 

Tyler, with one arm mangled, embedded glass peppering his skin, his face flushing from gravity, he scrambles for his seatbelt. He rattles the door handle furiously. 

When the door handle doesn't budge and Tyler sees the shimmer of flames erupt in his rear view mirror, he starts to scratch. He starts to scream. 

Josh noses him, murmuring, "We're free, we're free, we're free," streaking Tyler's skin red.

**Author's Note:**

> Gift for edy because they're an inspiration to keep writing and when I brought up the idea of Tyler fellating a gun, they supported me whole-heartedly on my journey. 
> 
> Porn/violence/angst without plot, I guess. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


End file.
